


Hellfire

by ni21



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blasphemy, Blood, Church Sex, Cuckolding, Exorcisms, F/M, Hardcore, Improper Use of a Crucifix, Improvised Sex Toys, No Aftercare, Permanent Injury, Priest Kink, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Scarification, Self-Harm, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21886459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ni21/pseuds/ni21
Summary: Priest Vegeta isn't exactly a devout man, he had his own reasons for taking this path and things really had been working out for him. That is, until that blue haired succubus had started to show up to his sermons. That demon really tried his already weakening resolve.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs & Yamcha, Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 96
Kudos: 77
Collections: Holy Rites//Horny Nites





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo and welcome thee who dare venture into the darkness!
> 
> This is my contribution to the [Priest Prompt Event "Holy Rites//Horny Nites"](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PriestVegeta), where amazing authors, namely [mahoganydoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles) , [areo_ian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areo_ian/pseuds/Areo_ian), [rogue_1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102), [katschusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katschusa), [ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake), [Lady_Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Red/pseuds/Lady_Red), and [Lachanophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic) provide you with amazing fanfics all centered around the Priest!Vegeta prompt.
> 
> My extra prompt is "Demon"  
> Now as for this contribution of mine… I don't know where to begin with the warnings…
> 
> First off, this takes place in a church and while it is fiction and fantasy, that church and everything holy in there gets defiled in numerous ways so if you take offense with that you might want to sit this one out and instead check out the amazing works of the other authors participating in this prompt event! I didn't write this to hurt anybody's religious feelings, only read this if you're up for that.
> 
> Second, I tagged this BDSM but there's lots of red flags in here, like things that aren't discussed but definitely should be… also, if you're searching for SSC, you won't find that here… RACK… uh… maybe if you squint. If that's not your cup of tea I also suggest you skip this one and take a look at the other works in this collection!
> 
> Special thanks go to [Lachanophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic) who was very supportive and basically carried my selfdoubting ass through the writing process, always there to bounce ideas and [rogue_1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102) for beta-ing this mess!

She was there, right in front of him. Third row on the right. The same seat she always took, her blue hair catching his eye the moment she had stepped into his church and while he told the believers about the importance of restraint and piety the harlot undressed him with her eyes.

When the time for the holy communion came she was there, of course. Tipping her head back, mouth opened and her tongue struck out as if she were waiting for something other than the Lord's body. Her blue eyes sparkled with unvoiced challenge under her lowered lids. He knew he couldn't deny her, couldn't send the demon away, the succubus sent here to test his own restraint. Not if he didn't want to make a scene, so he placed the sacramental bread on her tongue so she could eat it in the most lewd and heinous way possible and sent her on her way. 

He dreaded the end of today's service, like all the other weeks before, because he knew she would stay. She would patiently wait in her row while the freshly widowed would lament over their financial situation, the pain and suffering they endured without the loved ones that he himself could never have, and seek reassurance that they would meet again in heaven. 

He listened patiently as always. A gentle hand on their shoulder, a soft prayer on his lips and meaningless quotes from the great book to accompany them out.

Just when had he become this cynical? Granted, his faith wasn't the firmest -how could it be?- and he had regretted that reckless decision countless times because, in hindsight, being forced into marriage with a high bred bimbo to rule at his side didn't sound all that bad. She could have just had an unfortunate accident after bearing his heir…and instead he was stuck here and had to listen to the blasted whining of washerwomen. 

He'd never understand how they loved him as they did. He sure as fuck lacked the empathy that was supposed to be mandatory for the job, and he was sure they only liked him for what he was. After all he had to be oh-so-faithful to the Lord if he gave up the throne to follow his true calling! Fucking idiots the lot of them. That throne had never been the one he was destined for. 

None of this had mattered before, though, because with single minded focus he had thrown himself in the faith head first. Everything better than living that life his parents and their advisors dictated on him. No matter how outlandish the belief and the wonders proclaimed, he had found a way to believe. He had made himself believe and, for the longest time, he had believed he'd pulled it off. That he was content with this life, preaching His word and consoling the hungering masses while his family feasted everyday…

He had fooled himself, but the Lord knew what he was: A fucking fraud. And that, was the reason he didn't smite the succubus on the threshold to His holy house. She was his temptation, his test, and he was failing miserably.

She would ask for a confession, follow him to the booth and tell him in great detail how she had sinned the night before. How she had kneaded her tits, and played with her clit. How she fucked herself with four fingers because hers were so much thinner than his. Fucking harlot. He returned back behind his altar ignoring the succubus biting her plump lips. She let him off easy if she just told him about it, when she left her breathy moans to his imagination to fuel his cock ‘til late at night. He could deal with that. Leather biting into his flesh over and over got rid of the images most of the time and if it left him bloody! But he was helpless, so utterly helpless, when she'd hike up her skirts and do it right fucking there. In the confessional, with that tiny window all that kept him safe from her perverted persuasion. He'd hear her and see her even, as she'd always take good care to angle herself so he could get a glance and those four fingers plunging in the wet cunt not caring where she left her juices… those days… even the whip wouldn't help him, the pain not nearly enough to drive those impure thoughts and impulses from his weak body. Those days he sinned. Touched himself, with her siren song repeating in his mind. 

This time he wouldn't send her off with Hail Mary’s not again. He'd tried defeating her by tossing her willing and heated demon body in the snow. Maybe more fire would do the trick?

Should have joined the military. Could have fucked her without feeling guilty then, without losing to the Lord below… But then he would have risked dying in glorious battle which, admittedly, sounded good to him, but unfortunately also to his family. Couldn’t spite them by joining the military, couldn’t rob them of the one thing they really wanted from him with absolute finality… That heir they insisted on… He couldn’t sire offspring with a succubus, could he? He needed a human for that. One of those bland, boring women.

The last of his lost sheep left. The heavy door falling in its lock with a finality of a different kind and with the door closed his fate was sealed. He knew. It’s been long since their last time, he almost felt it in his bones that this wasn’t going to be one of the pretty times. The hairs on his neck stood on end as he heard her dress shift, her tiny feet shuffle over the cold stone.

"I'm afraid Hail Mary’s won't do for you anymore," he sighed even before she took the few steps up to the altar. 

She stopped her approach. "Yes, I believe I deserve punishment for my transgressions."

He was on her within seconds, smashed her against one of the big pillars holding the church steady through centuries and, for the barest moment, he worried about the clank with which her head connected to the stone. What the fuck kind of right did this demon have to be so delicate anyway? He hadn’t succeeded the last 6 times, but this time he would destroy this filthy abomination. Rip her apart with all the consecrated relics at his disposal and then she could pleasure her own Lord in the depths of hell. Down there in the smoldering fires where she belonged. 

He had chosen this part, this life and she wouldn’t make him sway. 

“You have no power over me, you filthy abomination,” he snarled right in her face and the demon just grinned at him, bearing her shiny teeth as much as the fire in her eyes and he tried his very best to recall the bite of the whip to keep himself from succumbing to her abominable charms.

“Are you sure, Father?” she husked, while pressing her tits up against his chest, “you seem fairly shaken by my  _ lewd displays _ .”

He despised his body, the utter weakness of his flesh for reacting like this to her every whim. How could such an abomination have this much of a hold over him? Her hand palmed his cock through his robe, and it greeted her with a treacherous jump while her lips met his own and he didn’t push her away. Fucking hypocrite is what he was. Preached chastity to his sheep to turn around the moment they left and succumb to a succubus like her.

According to the lore she should devour him. Should have weeks ago. Instead he pushed her harder against the stone, all but devouring her himself. Her very existence was a sin and yet she tasted so absolutely divine he was sure it was just a hint of paradise. She moaned into his mouth, those cherry red lips open for him, because of him and he ripped her dress’ bodice clean in half, freeing those marvelous tits of hers that could take so much and give so much more. Fucking hell this woman was perfect. She was everything she had to be to lure the righteous men to sin. 

It was his duty as their shepard to take this demon upon himself. To defeat her so no ordinary man would have to fight against this temptation. This  _ perfect _ temptation. When he hiked her legs up she instantly closed them around his narrow hips, like the last time he had succumbed and the time before that, gyrating on his cock with a strength only a woman of infernal origin could have. With the swipe of his arm he cleared the altar of all the sacramental clutter, not caring for a second about his Lord’s body and blood spilling all over the marbled floor. He was doing His work after all, He had to understand!

She whined when he put her down, the altar too high for her to keep the contact with his cock. Damn insatiable harlot. He left her there and he could hear her shimmy out of her torn skirts while he grabbed the discarded thurible. He’d never bothered to find out what the metal hooks in the side of the stony altar were intended for, but he had learned to appreciate it during their last after service meeting. 

She sat at the altar’s edge, pale creamy legs swaying as she watched him approach. That damn look of curiosity on her face. That blasted intellect shining behind the striking blue of her eyes. They should be glowing red, like the hellfire that had birthed her. But they weren’t, they were a beautiful, innocent blue and he had half a mind to gouge them out. He grabbed her hand from the marmor’s ledge, twisted her arm behind her and forced her flat down on the holy altar. He held out his other hand with the thurible chain looped around and she complied without any form of resistance. Let him tie the incense burner’s chain around her delicate wrists as tight as he saw fit after he’d looped it through the hooks. 

She rattled the chains, tested the tightness of his knot and every movement evoked another burst of incense through the holy halls. He was fairly confident with his work, trusted the solid chain to hold her long enough in place to get what he needed from his adjourning chambers. It didn’t take him long til he returned, but his grip around the leather tightened when incense wasn’t the only thing he smelled. This lewd creature! Got turned on by lying there on display for God to see, to disapprove. He’d teach her the fear the Lord could strike in the hearts of the non believers. He’d fucking show her just what she got from playing her filthy, degenerate games with him. 

He didn’t look at her. Not this time. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to oogle her perky tits and the bright blue curls between her legs. Not this time. She could no longer tempt him in such ways. He had seen and fallen for it before. 

A sigh escaped her lips when he returned to her side, her legs still hanging over the edge still swaying. As if this was a joke, a mere pastime.

“I was afraid you’d just leave me here, my prince,” she sighed.

“I haven’t been a prince for more than ten years, demon,” he answered, “You’d do better not expecting any chivalry from me. I won’t treat you as a prince would treat a woman, I will treat you as a demon harlot deserves.”

She grinned. Bitch grinned at him. “I can’t wait. Do your worst,  _ priest _ .”

He'd show her to defy his Lord, to defy him.

"Show me your back," he ordered and she gladly obeyed, turning on the holy altar with the lazy grace of a cat and all the vulgarity her kind harboured.

With gritted teeth he admired his work from the past months. The sweet Criss cross of pale white and angry red on that creamy skin of hers. Tonight he'd add a few more strokes of colour to this masterpiece. He trailed one white gloved finger over the map that he had made her back and she bucked at the touch. He'd made her bleed before, quite evident in the display before him and still she came to him again and again with all her wicked desires. 

His grip tightened on the whip as he stepped back. This cat was a good choice. Brought it down hard on her back instead of caressing her flesh with it's soft tails first. He didn't want to ease her into it. This demon didn't deserve this kind of preparation. And still she keened at the sensation, the little knots on the tails digging into her flesh.

He brought it down harder and harder and when her skin finally broke, finally gave way to his divine punishment her moans finally turned to cries and screams resounding through His holy halls that only ever got to hear boys' choir and gospel.

Her sobs were so much sweeter. Her blood so much more vibrant than the Lord's spilled on the floor. He splayed his hand over her torn back, followed the newest gashes and let the bright red soak the leather while she mewled below. She was perfection. Her blood and hair, more vibrant than even the most expensive gems, than the most beautifully tinted windows. 

He trailed his hand down her destroyed back, just for a moment he entertained the thought of removing his gloves, longing to feel the ridges of her wounds sway under his fingertips… he knew better though, she longed for his touch, the contact with his skin. He wouldn't give her that. 

He gripped her ass tight with his bloody glove and marvelled how it sprang back to form instantly. Marvelled at the perfection they tempted him with. They had outdone themselves.

"Turn around"

She did, one leg lifting in almost acrobatic grace to allow his hand to stay where it was, to allow it to trail its bloody digits over her sopping wet cunt and she only gave a hiss at the open wounds pressing against the marble. Even though he knew she could feel them with every movement she made, but it only seemed to spur her on. Led her to press her cunt even harder against his hand and fuck all if he didn't want to feel it hot and pulsing against his bare skin. 

He pulled back lest the temptation grew too big to resist. Slapped her across those perky tits instead and she reared with a moan despite the fact that he could fucking  _ hear _ her tattered back sticking to the stone.

Shouldn't be surprised. She'd fucking thrived on the pain, on every tiny wound, every abuse he'd dealt. Asked for more. Fucking demon that she was. Had driven him mad. Had given her more and more until he'd thrown her into the snow naked and bloody hoping she would just freeze to death. But here she was. Positively vibrating with life. Relishing in the burn of her back while he gripped her perfect tits with bruising force and she moaned in his face. Asked for more again. Demon.

Should just cut them off, since she insisted to parade them around like she did, pushing them in every man's face like that. But the fucking demon harlot would just grow them back, wouldn't she? And he was no butcher either, that was other monsters' job. Had always been. 

Her thighs rubbed together, he knew what she wanted, what she longed for. The burn wasn't enough for her, no amount of pain alone would give her the relief she sought of him. And no amount of pleasure would tip her over the edge without the pain, she'd told him more than once, proved it to him in the confessional over and over. This vulgar creature, mewling and moaning, spilling her lewd juices everywhere but not once had she cum like that. Only here with him, on the holy stone, bruised and bloody would she shiver and buck and cry and cum like nothing he could have ever even imagined.

"Please fuck me, my prince," she requested and he pinched her nipples harder 'til it earned him one of her delicious yelps, knew she loved a different kind of pain and slapped one tit in response.

"Forgive me father," she amended and he rewarded her with another tight squeeze. She begged him to absolve her from her sins, to cure her from her wicked desire if only for another few months, to grant her forgiveness for her filthy thoughts, to allow her the release she'd been chasing for weeks already.

Took his hands from her tits, her magnificent perky tits, now an angry red and with blood from her back and his fingers clearly imprinted on her milky flesh. He reached for one of the thin candles lit around the altar and her breathing hitched, her legs clamping shut. 

"Please not with the candle, I don't… I," she trailed off, sweet panic in her voice.

He scoffed while pulling it free from its holder, hot wax dripping on his gloves. "Of course you don't want the candle, you want something more substantial, don't you? Something more meaningful?"

She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes again making them that much more expressional. "Yes, please, Father!"

Such a greedy demon, he'd give her more meaningful, alright. He held the butt of the long candle in front of her mouth. "Open up, I'll give you something to keep yourself busy while I'm gone."

Just the barest hint of confusion flittered over her face before she obeyed, jerking slightly, when the first drop of too hot wax dripped just above her navel. He pushed it in her mouth and she closed around it, so it could burn over her torso. He knew the distance wasn't high enough, knew it would get only smaller as the candle kept burning down, but a demon like her should be used to the fire, shouldn't she? 

"You better not let it fall," he said before leaving her there on the altar, hands bound, back tattered and candle in her mouth steadily dripping wax on her torso. He didn't spare her another glance as he left for the sacristy, couldn't bear that visual any longer of her plump lips closed around that fucking candle that really should be his cock. Hearing her hiss and moan really was enough to keep him way too hard for the role he was playing here.

Took it from the wall… he might not be on the best terms with his father, but at least he would never ask him to sacrifice himself for a whole lot of filthy degenerate scum that couldn't even spell gratitude if they had schools… no all his father wanted from him was to fuck one of those humans and get him an heir. No fucking way.

He gripped the wood tight. Not quite sure which side he wanted to piss of more, which end to fuck her with. 

She was a withering and moaning mess when he returned, and he attributed it in equal parts to the hot wax slowly cooling on her skin and the expectation of what was to come. 

Gloved hand on her knees was all the prompting she needed to let her legs fall open, to show her blue covered cunt to him and he knew she'd beg for him if her mouth wasn't occupied with more important things. Plunged the long end in without warning. On the odd chance she was sent by the other side this would be fitting right? Cross hanging upside down from where they wanted his cock to be? Fuck all. Her hips bucked and if she weren't a hellspawn he would have been worried about the sharp edges about possible splinters, but then he'd also have to worry about the too hot wax and the open bloody wounds pressing against the stony surface of the altar. 

She keened and thrashed as much as she could with the burning candle spraying the wax all over her, raised her hips to meet every thrust of the wooden cross inside of her. Her fingers fisted around the chains, her legs stretched, toes curled. His teeth grit together with the same force his fingers digged into her thigh. He wanted that. Wanted her. He didn't give a fuck that she was a demon. He wanted her, wanted her at his side, because she was fucking perfect.

She came bucking after one more shove of the holy relic and he took mercy on her. Uncharacteristically. Caught the candle falling from her lips, her perfect lips open to the most strangled scream he'd heard from her yet. 

He sighed. He was losing this battle. Hard. Got harder every time she came, but she didn't care did she? She'd come again.

She hummed next to him, stretched like a cat even with the crucifix still wedged inside of her as soon as she woke from her high and shoved her abused, red tits in his face like the demon she was… "Mh, you're getting good with the torture, Father. I believe I might have felt your God there for a second."

He scoffed and she blinked at him with her bright blue eyes that were much more suitable for an angel. Expectation shining just as much as her intellect. 

He'd been wrong. This creature with her bloody back and bruised tits… she wasn't his test. She was his punishment. The Lord mocked him everytime He sent her to him, He laughed in his face because He knew he was a fraud. He had chosen this life to be free of his family's whims and dictations. Had thought that the rigorous life, this deprivation of earthly claims would set him free, because he didn't need those brain-dead hussies, would rather take no woman at all than to ever bed one of those inbred arm candies. But the Lord knew and sent him a woman whose beauty was only rivaled by her intellect. A woman that talked back to him and wasn't afraid to garner his wrath. Embraced it even. A woman he could never have because he had turned his back on his heritage and sworn loyalty to a fucking jackass that hogged all His servants' affections and attentions for himself. Also a woman he could never have because she could never bear his children.

Fuck it all, and if they cast him back down in the fires with her. 

"The only god you need to feel is me, and you felt me plenty, Bulma."

She laughed. Of course she did, she always did. "So nice of you calling me by my name, Father, with you calling me a demon all the time I could almost forget I'm human"

She was fucking what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's that, now it's time for another installment of BDSM 101!
> 
> Today's episode: Wax-Play and Whipping!  
> If you've read my stuff before you know you should always do research and intensive negotiations for any type of play so this really doesn't cut it. Just a brief summary.  
> Be careful with your choice of candles. Different materials have different melting points. Some, especially the thin long candles have hardening agents that increase the melting point and can seriously burn if dropped from too little altitude.  
> No beeswax! That's entirely too hot. Also not exactly a safety thing, but it's a bitch to get out of hair
> 
> Now on to the whipping!  
> The thinner the whip's tail, the sharper the sting. Hygiene is important! Blood can happen (as you saw) but isn't necessary of course, you only take this as far as you and your partner are comfortable with! As with any other form of play, if there is blood the wounds need to be treated properly! You don't throw your bloody partner out in the snow to fend for themselves!  
> In general, don't skip the aftercare as it's done here, it's important for both parties! And when in doubt contact a [physician](https://ncsfreedom.org/resources/kink-aware-professionals-directory/kap-directory-homepage) and no matter how embarrassing it might be, if something goes severely wrong don't hesitate to call an ambulance. They have most likely seen worse. Oh and don't tie people up with chains like that, you always need to be able to free them at a moment's notice.
> 
> That said, I'd love to hear your opinion, just please stay cordial, this is a piece of fiction after all.  
> There will be at least one more chapter from Bulma's POV. In the meantime I suggest you check out the other works in the collection if you haven't already, also, in case you want prove that I can write healthy BDSM, check out my Vegebul [Halloweenie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118127) or if you're up for it my One Piece story [Shoganai](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560110)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time Bulma got her punishment for her lewd ways and now it's time to treat her wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo and welcome back!
> 
> Congratulations, you made it past the first chapter! 
> 
> I'm afraid this chapter isn't to everybody's taste either, albeit for much less bloody reasons. In case you start wondering halfway through, yes, this is/ will be a vegebul story!

Guilt churned in her belly, as she sat on a turned chair in her husband's dining room, while he dabbed the antibiotic ointment on her torn back.

He was a sweet man, always doing his very best to please her, and it broke her heart that he failed more often than not.

10 years ago, when she had met him on the day of their wedding, with both their families absolutely elated that they had found such a perfect match for their children, she had been optimistic. While not exactly pleased with the fact that others had made that choice for her, she had thought she could do it. Fall in love with that sweet, sweet man that hadn't touched her until well into their second year of marriage.

She knew it was partly because he'd been too shy to get close, she was pretty sure he'd been close to fainting at their chaste wedding kiss. But she really appreciated that he had allowed them to become friends before he'd even attempted to fulfill their matrimonial duties.

It was a good thing he'd taken his time, because it had been a disaster.

Her mother had warned her that the first time might hurt, that men weren't always the most considerate, oftentimes too rough, but he wasn't and that was the problem.

He had hit her once on accident. A clumsy mistake, really, and he had apologized profusely, his hardness instantly growing soft inside of her while her body had come alive in a way she had never deemed possible.

It had taken five more years, until she could convince him to do it again, and in the meantime she had started to envy those women with their violent husbands, her mother had warned her about. And it made her feel like a horrible, horrible person because she knew that they didn't feel like that. They were normal. They were how God intended, while she was some freak of nature.

She could see the disgust clear in Yamcha's face, whenever she asked for violence. She had given up, and so had he. Neither of them would ever gain real pleasure with the other. They lay together on special occasions and when their parents got particularly annoying about wanting heirs for their businesses. She really did her best to look like she was enjoying herself. To look like she was normal, but he always knew. Always stopped, rolled off her with a sigh, to either take her in his arms and promising her they'd find a way or depending on his mood, to throw a table. 

After six years of childless marriage and lies about how they were doing their best, her mother had sent her to see a midwife. 

The woman had been an awfully tiny old lady. Her near toothless smile had creeped her out and almost made her leave instantly. But her mother had insisted she was the best. The midwife had taken the job ridiculously serious, asked questions over questions. Personal questions, private questions and with such infuriating intensity that Bulma had snapped, no matter how scared she had been of that hag, she had snapped. Jumped up from her chair and had screamed at her that they couldn't get children because they didn't have sex, because she was a freak, because she was an abomination and it had shut the woman up -For a moment. Then the most creepy grin she had ever seen, had spread over the hag's wrinkled pale face. It had made her skin crawl and her stomach had churned when the milky eyes had looked her up and down, lingering on her bosom and narrow waist. She had told her that she should consult the young new priest instead. To tell him of her ailment in great detail and if it had been anyone but that old hag she would have assumed it was to ask for spiritual guidance… to this day, she had no idea how someone could make that sound so… dirty.

It had been dirty of course. Downright filthy, even though it had taken her another two years to actually seek him out. To walk up those steps to the dark, imposing churchdoors. She'd been terrified. Had listened to the mysteriously dark priest, with his sinful voice, preach all the things she knew, she couldn't follow. She'd gone home after the sermon. Gone home to cry against her husband's shoulder, that she had been too weak, too scared to confess her dark desires to maybe the only person who could help them. Who could help her. Make her right again. Now she couldn't even remember how often she had listened to that man without approaching him. He was a man of little height, the look in his black eyes hard and full of barely veiled disgust at whoever sought him out after the service. How could she confess such horrible things to a man like him? If he regarded the simple lusting after the neighbor's husband with such disdain.

In the end it had been Yamcha who had given her that final piece of courage. How defeated he had been, how he had tried to force himself to be rough with her… She couldn't keep doing that to him or to the both of them. And finally… what was the worst thing the priest could do to her? Tell her to pray 30 Hail Mary's and some self flagellation? 

She could still remember how her breathing had stopped that day, when those piercing, black eyes had focused on her, and her alone. She suddenly wasn't all that sure, if all the other women, always staying late really only wanted spiritual guidance from him. He wasn't attractive in any traditional way. Not handsome like Yamcha. But… otherworldly. It really was as if in his presence, she could feel something that was more than just this worldly realm. Something beyond.

The first time father Vegeta had helped her, Yamcha had been horrified by the result. Black and blue as she had been. 

Yamcha hadn't touched her for weeks after seeing her like that. Had finally realised how serious this problem between them was. A few months later she stayed for confessions, because suddenly it wasn't her husband she was thinking of in the dead of night. Some months later she'd asked for another punishment and it had fueled her for a few more weeks. The burn on her back, the rubbing of the bandaged wounds against the hard straw mattress, giving her that edge her husband refused to give. No, refused was wrong. He just couldn't..Couldn't willingly hurt her, no matter how much she begged for it. 

How many times had she started fights with him in hopes to raise his temper? He deserved better, she knew that. Had even suggested a divorce to him but he had refused. What would become of her? She was too old to remarry and who knew what other men would do to her if they found out about her condition? No, even if it meant he would never sire offspring, even if it meant he might stay abstinent for the rest of his life… he wouldn't leave her. This angel soul. He wouldn't risk her getting burned at the stake for her ungodly desires.

"I'm sorry, B," He said, after having wrapped the bandages around her torso, his head coming to rest on her shoulder and she combed through his thick mane. She genuinely loved his hair and she hated herself for wanting to know what another shock of black hair would feel like threading between her fingers. 

"It's not your fault, Yamcha, I'm sorry I hurt you like that," she admitted leaning back against his shoulder. She liked being with him. Despite all else she felt safe with him. Loved, even. 

She shook him off as she got up from her chair, stretching her back to feel the sting of her wounds, the tickle of skin unsticking. This wasn't love between them. Could never be. They'd have to understand and accept each other for love, but they didn't. Not really, not like they should. They were friends, which honestly was more than most married couples could say. She should be happy, really should. 

She shouldn't seek the thrill of the dark priest. Of not knowing if she'd survive the night. Fuck the first time he'd thrown her out the church bloody? Her dress ripped? She'd tumbled through the maze of alleys, nose wrinkled at the biting smell of feces, at the knowledge of all the horrible sickening airs around her… her whole body had been on fire, her legs still weak from the most intense orgasm of her life and she, a woman of science, had prayed for the first time of her life. She pleaded to reach that midwife before sickness could fester in her wounds. That she may please, please not trip on the century old cobblestone or slip in a horse's waste, because she  _ knew _ if she were to fall, if her wounds would make contact with the filth on the ground, she'd be dead within few agonizing days.

She'd never felt more alive. 

"I hate this," she said, slipping her arms back into her dress, "I really wish you'd find yourself a lover of some sort."

He laughed nervously, father Vegeta never did that. He would tell her to shut her demon trap and stop trying to tempt him and she loathed herself for both knowing that and for even the thought of his reaction making her wet. "You know I couldn't do that, B. What would people think if it came out?"

She scoffed. "That you're a fucking fool for not getting one 10 years ago. Everyone knows that wives are frigid and only there to give you offspring." Regret immediately washed over her when his shoulders dropped at the venom in her words. He had hoped for a different kind of marriage. Deserved a different kind, like her parents'. Not this… this fucking farce that made neither of them happy. He at least would have a chance for happiness if he wasn't shackled to her by obligation. 

For her things had been bleak from the start. Daughter of a scholar… women with a brain just weren't attractive, were they?

"So, you ready to put a baby in this belly?" She joked, trying to lighten the mood, while she should have known, it would do anything but. 

He shrinked away from her. Despite his tall and broad built he looked small, out of place on the velvet seat cushion. "You know I can't, B," He sighed, "I know this treatment is what you want, need even… but…"

He didn't need to end this sentence. She knew where it would go. It made him sick. She made him sick. The wounds would have to scrab over before he could even think about touching her.

"And… and even if it wasn't like… like this. You're like a sister to me by now." He tried to apologize, tried to salvage what was left.

She huffed, popped a berry in her mouth and gave him a red toothy grin despite knowing he'd had enough red for the day. "Well maybe that's why the prince chose the cloth, didn't feel like fucking family," she wondered out loud and he caught her provocation. 

"I'm sure you suit his tastes much better," he agreed with a rare show of bitterness.

"Hm, I don't think so," she wondered out loud picking another berry from the loaded porcelain étagère and sauntering towards her husband. Bunching up her skirts she straddled his lap and pushed her bosom in his face. "If what people say is true tits aren't really appreciated by priests," she finished and put the berry on her lips ready for him to take it.

He loved the berries, the tanginess they had, in fact they only had them because of him and she hoped against hope that his favourite snack might help him forget the horror that was her back.

He didn't take it. Hugged her to him instead, always mindful not to touch her wounds.

"I'm sorry it's like this," he said, "if it were just me we could just adopt."

Yes, one of the poor little waifs littering the streets begging for scrabs, the haunted children in the orphanages… but it wasn't just him and her. An adopted child just didn't count, didn't have centuries of noble bloodlines to strengthen its claim. Fucking bullshit. 

But that's what it was. Yamcha and her could never be happy. Not while she couldn't find a cure for her condition. Their families would surely grow to hate each other, blaming the other for the childless marriage. Society looked down on them as it was and not for the first time did she cry.

Fisting her hands into her husband's expensive garb she cried like a child, apologised for being wrong, for being an abomination, for being a bad wife, for ruining his life.

It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for that. If she were on her own. She would visit her priest to take off the edge, and go back to studying in her father's library, fully immersing herself in the sciences. She knew she could be happy like that. Despite her condition. But she just had to drag this poor, lovable man down with her. 

Bulma Briefs had never been a nice person or a good person. She'd always been on the egoistical side, hurting people more often than not, just because she didn't use her brain before talking. She was a petty person, sometimes cruel even. But right now she wept for him. That stupid man, that would rather be miserable his whole life, than to leave her to fend for herself.

She loved this stupid, stupid man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BDSM 101  
> First off, what I forgot last time but should go without saying, props and toys need to be cleaned, especially if there's blood involved. Don't use a dirty whip, when in doubt, clean it again! There's guides online for different materials, do your research. And wounds need to be treated immediately! Possibly lethal infections are NOT good fear play material! Stay safe.
> 
> Second, if you enjoy pain in bed it doesn't mean you're an abomination and whatever else Bulma is thinking here. It's fine as long as all participating parties are consenting and take care to educate themselves on the matter. It might not be the most normal desire, but what the fuck is normal anyways?
> 
> Don't be unhappy for ten years, talk to each other and find a solution, key to any good relationship is communication!
> 
> \----------------
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, tune in next time for some answers!  
> Huge thank you to [ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake) for beta reading this on short notice, if you haven't checked out her contribution to the prompt, [Devine Retribution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944332/chapters/52372360) you should definitely give it a try! It will suck you right in with lore worthy of an entire series!
> 
> Special thanks also to [Lachanophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic) for helping me through the writing process and cheering me on every step of the way and... Let's be honest, just for being there! If you haven't, check out her [contribution](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PriestVegeta/works/21862162), because that could just as well make it as an actual book!   
> And if that's not enough for you, there's 4 more awesome works in this collection, give them a try if you haven't!
> 
> Drop me a kudos or comment to let me know what you think of this!


	3. Chapter 3

The leather tore into his back, the burn hardly enough to placate his infernal fury. He'd been wrong. They had made him a fucking fool! He had engaged with her for over a year and not once had he…

With a curse he tossed the blasted thing into a corner. Fucking useless, even the one with the metal claws. He was certain he'd reached the bone there at some points and still the usual clarity evaded him. With a scoff he felt the muscle mend, that blasted tickle crawling over his back, as tendons grew back together, and skin renewed.

Couldn't they have given him an actual mortal body? Can they? 

He sat back against the splattered wall, didn't care that his back was still mostly raw, the paint was tainted with blood anyway and  _ she _ had endured that feeling, too. She in her mortal body, her fragile body. Fuck! 

He wished she were a demon sent by God to test his loyalty… that would have been just infinitely better than the truth. Understandable, too. The old man would be a fool to just believe someone like him just came to worship him during these warring times. 

No the truth was much more painful than that. Infinitely worse than the wounds on his back. She was a human sent by his parents. His actual parents, not those fucking meatbags this body had been born to. Hadn't that been enough to humiliate him? Forcing him to live through the whole human life? Having humans change his damn diapers?  _ "It'll be alright, Vegeta, you'll be a prince there, just like you are here."  _ Fucking bullshit.

Well at least they had been furious when he had abdicated his earthly titles to join the cloth. They had stuck him in a royal family for a reason after all. Sire offspring… he had no interest whatsoever in all those pretty ladies with their painted faces and the air around them so saturated with perfume that he could only liken it to the sulfurous air of his damn backyard.

And now they'd sent her. He knew better than to blame her. It wasn't her fault. Probably just some poor misguided creature, just like all the widows asking him for help. What did they promise her? What could you promise a human to accept this type of treatment? No, it wasn't like that, she genuinely enjoyed that. Every second of it.

She thanked him even. Had they made her for him? Created a human so perfect he couldn't resist? No, only God could create humans. They had found her and … had they put those desires in her heart?

He was sure they cared for her wounds because they healed an awful lot better than the city's overall medical care and knowledge allowed. If he had cut off her tits, as he had thought to yesterday.. would they have grown them back for her? He didn't even try to suppress the shiver crawling up his neck. He could have killed her. Even if he hadn't actively stopped her heart, all those gaping wounds he had inflicted upon her… they should have festered and at least cost her some limbs… his eyes darted to the unsullied crucifix hanging on his bedroom wall… he wouldn't have been happy. 

He didn't care much for his heritage and the role his parents imposed on him, but he was the crown prince. If he personally had killed one of  _ His _ creations… it would have been a diplomatic disaster. He'd never hear the end of it and then it wouldn't matter that they had put the human in his claws.

He scoffed banging his head against the stone behind him. Also wouldn't matter that the old man was a fucking hypocrite.  _ His _ creation, bullshit, he didn't give a flying fuck about them, like some diva did he send plague and highwaters just because  _ he  _ thought they had insulted him in some way. And still whenever something good happened it just had to have been him. Never them. They were only thought of when something bad happened. Fucking ridiculous. They had given them development, welcomed them with open arms despite their wrongdoings but they were the evil ones. He was evil incarnated. He was the monster that they feared!

He jumped to his feet, the tingling of his healing back all but gone, centering on the small of his back instead with his pending transformation.

He needed fucking answers, pulled the cassock back up, ignoring the stickiness of his drying blood soaked into the cloth. Didn't even think twice before slapping the white collar back into place, no matter how much Baba made him pay for her information, he had no doubt whatsoever that she would run gossiping to his parents the moment he turned his back and they didn't have to know he was in doubt.

He steeled himself in front of the heavy church doors. With deep breaths he forced the bristling energy under his skin back into his core, willed the oozaru inside to just wait a little while longer.

Seeing a priest roaming the streets with a bloody back wasn't likely to raise many eyes but a priest with fangs, tail and hellfire hair sure as fuck was bound to earn some screams.

The heavy door fell shut behind him and he rushed down the stony steps into the disgusting cesspool that was the height of humanity's accomplishments. He ignored the woman squatting on the side of the road with her skirts bunched up and the thin trickle of concentrated urine finding its way around the cobblestone. Ignored the marketer praising his rotten fruits, selling them for usury amounts. Ignored the cook slapping her Help left and right for forgetting the list. Fucking pigs the lot of them. 

_ The devil made me do it.  _ Yeah, of fucking course they did. They didn't give a single fuck, in the end they were there to pick up the pieces. The souls the old man had tempted for fucking fun and discarded when the free will he had given them, made them lose. Fucking bastard is what he was, but no, they were the bad ones.

Ha! As if. The devil? That devil didn't care for the humans' little failures and shit. As long as he got his naptime in and a tasty snack afterwards the  _ devil _ couldn't care less. And that might just be his best quality, he didn't care whether the humans were assholes… Not even his father had cared, even though he had to admit that the lost souls had a much easier life now that he'd been defeated. 

He made his way through the maze that was the city, all the way to the outer rings where the lowest of the lowest lived and the thought made him shudder. There was only one person in this rotten city that could have sent her to him and only one that could be responsible for the marvelous healing of her wounds. Everytime he had thrown her out of his church, bloody and torn, barely able to stand, this had been the way she had taken? Even if his back hadn't healed yet, this body was immune to the countless pathogens that could befall a human and still this part of the city made him wrinkle his nose in disgust and his phantom tail clench around his hips. 

By all accounts she should be dead. 

He stepped over a passed out drunk, or a corpse, who knew in this part of the city and he was really grateful that they came to hell without a body. Souls were much less disgusting.

When he reached the old hag's hut he did not bother to knock, just walked in, startling a young girl with an almost obscenely protruding belly… her eyes immediately cast to the floor and she muttered for forgiveness. Fucking disgusting. Barely out of childhood. Not even old enough to marry. Fucking pigs.

He stopped her with his palm on her head when she made to scurry around him and she winced. Stilled instantly.

"May your future shine brighter than your past, be blessed, my child," he said and watched as desperate worry lifted from her face and made her look even younger than she had already been. Despicable humans, no honour whatsoever. Girl had asked for forgiveness, just what the fuck was wrong with this world's morals? It wouldn't be her that would be standing in front of him by the end of days.

"That was unexpectedly kind of you, lad," the old crone quipped as soon as her door fell closed after the girl left, "I'd prefer you to not scare off my customers, though."

He turned to the tiny witch, her face more weathered than it had any right to be with her hiding behind drawn drapes all day. 

"And I'd prefer you calling me by my proper titles, hag."

She laughed, a raspy cackle that made his skin crawl despite himself. "Ah, I guess we can't all have what we want, can we, laddy? What brings you here?"

He'd blast her to oblivion, he really would, felt the energy already cracking in his fingertips, but unfortunately he still needed her… more ways than one. He sat down in her chair instead. The tall one. The one he knew she used for her audiences so whoever came to beg for help felt small and insignificant despite her being ridiculously tiny and he saw with satisfaction that her cheeks puffed out in an almost juvenile workaround to insubordination.

"You know damn well why I'm here, Baba."

The old hag laughed at him. 

"I am aware how unwilling you are to play your family's games, Vegeta, I know they only wish for an heir so they won't lose the throne again, but even you can't deny that, that woman wears the colours of your highest form. Lord Beerus does not care about your legacy. He wouldn't have anointed you as his heir if he cared about bloodrelation, but he does care about power and that woman just might be the key."

He scoffed. "So you sent her on your own?" Just what he needed,  _ another _ power to meddle in his affairs.

"I only serve the throne, my prince," she answered with a mock bow, "she came to me seeking help to conceive, but it soon showed that a barren womb wasn't her problem."

"You could have fucking sent her to her death," he barked, fury rising again, cackling in the small of his back, in his jaw, and lighting his hair aflame.

"A risk I'm willing to take, Vegeta! You know as much as I, that you can't hope to keep the scales balanced as you are now. You  _ know _ their warrior thrives to gain power at all times."

Of fucking course he knew! That fucking idiot couldn't count to ten, didn't even know the consequences of this behaviour. Neither had gained that fabled blue might and still, if they were to clash now they would take Earth with them. And that moron still trained, what use does it have for either side to win, if there were no more people left to rule over? Was all this a fucking game to him?

"I know you're tired, my prince," she said, her voice soft and understanding. 

He sighed, of course she could understand. She had walked the earth for a few centuries herself hadn't she? 

"It's just meaningless, we're the same, there's no power he can reach that I can't, what's the fucking point?"

She hummed and turned away from him. A slight from everyone else, damn hag was just too comfortable around him. "Oh I don't know, but I can tell you that that rival of yours found a girl worth fighting for aeons ago… he even has an heir."

The flame of his power erupted and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it this time. His tail shot from his back while her throne crumbled beneath him and Baba yelped in surprise. His hair no doubt the hellfire red he'd dreaded before. Hadn't even felt the pain in his bones this time, the taste of blood on his tongue the only reminder of how his gums had torn to allow room for his elongated fangs.

So it wasn't just his parents that wanted him to get an heir. That fucking moron! That egotistical bastard with no inkling whatsoever of common decency, of consideration! Living his fucking life however he fucking pleased, not giving a single fuck how that made him feel, how that trapped him. 

So he  _ had to  _ get an heir. He had to keep the balance because the fucking idiot didn't give a fuck about the world. 

With minimal effort, he zeroed in on  _ her _ energy, and with two fingers on his forehead, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have guessed it, but a huge thank you goes to both [Lachanophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic) and [ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake) for putting up with my whiney ass and occasional complete disregard for grammar. They are the best, check out their works! Lachanophic just got this new fairytale fic [The Mandragora Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22099741/chapters/52742845) out and it's amazing, chapter two is now up!!
> 
> Also, please leave me a kudos and/or a comment to let me know what you think about this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta makes a house call, tempers rise and decisions are made.

He had assumed that the woman came from money with her expensive garb and utter disregard for its ruin, so materialising in a lush dining room with exotic fruits and delicate biscuits didn't come as a surprise for him. What did surprise him was seeing her straddling a human in tight embrace. Gold twinkled from his finger buried under those damn azure locks. So she was still married… she never wore the ring when she came to him. 

The man noticed him first, almost instantly his head snapped up from her neck, eyes going almost comically wide while his heart sped up. The fear permeating from him was almost tangible and he couldn't blame him. The cold fury in his gut had his energy cackling around him, no human should take that lightly.

The man jumped from his chair, pushed his yelping, protesting wife behind his broad back, ready to protect her as if he stood a chance against him. It was admirable though. His will to protect her despite knowing her dark secret. The smell of antiseptic was almost as thick as the human's fear. So he had been the one caring for her wounds. 

"Take what you want, demon, but leave my wife and I be," the man implored, voice steadier than he would have expected.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, I'm here for her after all," he shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant, instead of fury incarnate. Wouldn't do him any good if he blasted her to smithereens before he got to fuck her either.

She perked up and stopped cowering behind her husband. He could see a shock of blue hair behind the man’s shoulder, just before she pushed her husband out of the way, and placed him  _ behind her _ . Her stance broad and ready to protect him?

Her eyebrows were drawn, fury to rival his own on her face, clear as day. "What the fuck are you doing in my home, Father?" It was less of a question and more like a curse if anything…maybe even a threat?

Her bodice was hanging from her form, the medical supplies cluttered on the table, proof that she had received care for her wounds, not too long ago. 

The man perked up behind her. "Father?" He asked while his eyes slipped to his white collar. "You have been the one taking care of my wife's, my wife's needs?"

What the actual fuck was even happening here? How was this man so calm in the face of his demonic form? What was she thinking, how did she dare to-

"I asked a question and you damn well better answer me. I come to you when I need you. You have no right to come into my house like this! And I don't give a fuck if you're a demon or whatever the fuck else you are!" She seethed, taking two steps towards him to jab her pointer finger in his chest. She flinched at the unexpected burn of his power, power that radiated all around him. She cradled her hand against her chest, while her brow furrowed in irritation. Was this woman completely mad?

She should fear him, this form, this energy! And instead she spewed demands? This wasn't like in the church either, all playful banter. What had she said? That she'd almost felt his God last time?

With a hand around her throat he tossed her onto the expensive mahogany table. He'd fucking show her how a mortal like her should behave in front of a God! Desperate fingers clawed against his gloves, as she noticed her change of location, moments after it had happened. A stray kick met his thigh and he didn't even attempt to suppress his chuckle at her surprised yelp of pain. 

"You damn well better show some respect when you come face to face with the divine, Bulma." He husked towards her and she stilled her protest, her flailing. The smell of her delicious fear was potent enough to displace the biting scent of her medication.

The man stammered behind them and with all but a flick of his wrist, he smashed the human back into the chair he'd been sitting on, yellow bonds holding him in place, but not once did he take his eyes away from her. Watched her panic morph into something ugly. Disdain?

"I see," she croaked with the little air he granted her, "the divine you say? Bullshit! Is that why you've been calling me a demon all the time? Projecting? Because you can't come to terms with the fact that you are an abomination yourself?" 

"Bulma!" The weakling chastised her, "Please, Father, have mercy, she's just ashamed that I get to see more of this part of her than she was ready to share. We are very grateful for your help in fixing her!"

"Fixing her?" He couldn't help the roar, he let go of her, to focus on this pitiful excuse of a human, struggling against restraints he probably couldn't even see. Why on earth would this woman need fixing? She was fucking perfect! So perfect in fact that in his human form he had taken her for his own kind!

She gasped behind him, scrambling to her feet now that she was free of his hold, to bury her pitifully weak fingers in his robe in a futile attempt to hold him back. At least that's what he assumed because she was definitely crazy enough to try.

"He's right! I'm sorry, please don't hurt him, we're very grateful you're making me more normal, I didn't mean it! I-..." Her voice caught in her throat. Thick tears running down her cheeks, but they were different from the ones he was used to. Her head dropped in defeat, but her hand clutched even tighter. "Just please don't hurt him, Father, he's just trying to protect me."

She cried for him, that human? That man that thought she needed fixing? He'd never seen her this scared before, terrified even, not even while he had attacked her in her own home just short of actually choking her to death, he could see the bruises forming already. Not for her own life, but this weak individual that thought... The fury in his gut, that had been spitting fire and brimstone seconds ago simmered down.  _ She  _ thought she needed fixing.

Did she not mind if he were to kill her because she believed that she deserved it? Those bright blue eyes of hers, that made so much more sense now that he knew her to be human, pleaded to him, brimming with tears and made the bile rise up in his throat. This beautiful creature, reduced to this sniffling mess because of that fucking weakling? Pathetic! She had proven her strength to him countless times and now? It wasn't even disdain he felt.. this heaviness in his gut… disappointment is what it was. . If any human was worth his seed then surely it would have been her… but now? Like this? This didn't even seem worth killing. Balance of the world be damned. He should just kill Kakarot's brat and get this war over with, so what if the world burned for it?

"So fucked up," he muttered under his breath, but she heard. Oh, she heard indeed, her brows furrowed and her plump lips thinned to a fine line. None of the earlier weakness visible. 

"You know what? I'm tired of this game, if you came here to kill me or whatever get it over with or leave, but leave him out of this," she said, her voice leveled, calm. She meant it, no doubt in her eyes. And again she protected the weakling. How did she flip like this? Defeat, fury, calm… there might be an issue with her mental health, but it was impressive nonetheless. But still more than he felt like dealing with. Power pooled in his hand, she deserved it quick, blast her now so she could frolic in heaven with that cuck of a husband of hers. Would be better for her, too, without the stigma of the mortals all around.

Her resolve didn't waver in the eye of the pure energy, just stepped further away from her crying and begging husband to protect him yet again. 

What if they sent her to hell? If only for her to tempt him further? To rub it in? He wouldn't let that happen. With a deep breath, he concentrated on the void in his core, funneled it thread by thread to his palm where it became volatile and skittish, lashing out at nothing and everything. Deep breath, he was grateful that she took her imminent destruction in stride, because he was sure as fuck that her whimpering wouldn't allow for the necessary concentration. Didn't want to destroy himself by accident. No matter what Baba said, he didn't need her to reach Blue. Kakarot hasn't reached it and he apparently had been fucking for a while.

"Eeeeh, Geeta!" 

The dark purple energy licked his fingers before imploding in his grasp. Gods fucking damn him! He hadn't even noticed the imbecile pop up! His heart thumped in his throat faster than this body should allow, as he scowled at his scorched palm where a glove should have been. The glove was fine otherwise, no blackening, no crusted edges, just a circular hole where the energy had made contact. It could have been his hand. Maybe it was indeed time he accepted that he wouldn't be able to control this power without reaching Blue first, but he'd be fucking damned if he needed some fuck toy to do so!

"The fuck are you doing here, Kakarot, this is none of your business!"

The man laughed, that infuriating chuckle of his, with one hand scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, it kinda is? They are alive humans so technically ours? You destroying thems is kinda badish?"

He scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest, instead of balling them at his sides, like he felt like doing. He wouldn't mime the  _ petulant child _ in front of anybody, much less this fucking idiot who really was responsible for all this mess. 

"Well good thing I'm the bad guy, isn't it? It's what they think I do anyway, so back the fuck up," he seethed.

"Aw, Geeta, you're not that bad, you know that! I mean sure you're from hell and all, bu-"

" _ Don't _ say it," he interrupted and sneered at the grown man, champion of heaven as he pouted like a little girl. Fucking disgrace!

"Alright alright, look I think I know what you're mad about? And.. I mean Champa said it was alright? So…," the oaf shrugged and scratched his head again. He was a fucking caricature!

"Well of-fucking-course he said it's alright to procreate if it meant to one up his brother. For fucks sake, just how stupid are you? He's probably just waiting for the right time to rub it in." He loathed himself for losing his calm like that. For screaming at the idiot who had no inkling whatsoever of the consequences... In front of the humans that now knew he was just as much a chess piece for the mighty as they were.

"Yeah, well, but it's nice? I mean I know you kinda have to now and I'm sorry, but it's nice having a family, you know? It's fun," He said meekly, looking past him over his shoulder to the humans he had almost forgotten. The only thing reminding him of their presence was the smell of scorched flesh, when she'd tried to free the man from his restraints, while he was busy with the idiot. 

"I mean you might need Baba's help since this human is like a lot older than Chichi bu-"

"Get the fuck out," he bellowed and flung more energy his way than necessary, incinerating the wall to the sitting room when Kakarot teleported from the scene. At least he'd gotten the hint. 

He turned towards the humans with a sigh. The anger rolled off of her in waves and he was pretty sure it was because of the jab at her age. Fickle little thing. 

But fine, he wouldn't destroy them, but killing should be fine, he could still fuck her in hell if all else failed. 

"Wait!" She called, shaking herself out of her angry stupor as his normal energy came forth in his palm again. She was calm again and he began to suspect a personality disorder of some kind.

"What? I got it the first time, I'll make it quick."

"No, idiot!" She huffed and he could barely believe the fucking nerve of that woman "If I got that correctly, that absolutely rude idiot, suggested you impregnate me?"

Ah, well at least she had an eye for people, that assessment of Kakarot was spot on.

"And?" He asked, dissipating the energy and ignoring the man's pleas for his wife to not do anything rash and stupid. If he'd learned anything since he came here, this woman was prone to making rash and stupid decisions.

"And I'm not against that. You see, I don't know anything about this hell business you were talking about, but you and us, both are pressured to get children, which we can't get because we don't fuck," she explained flippantly and while she apparently took the lack of sizzling energy as an invitation to approach him he was left wondering if she had seen her husband flinch at the dismissive tone. "Now  _ you _ on the other hand, I know for a fact that you're a man, demon, whatever of taste because whenever you ravage me you are hard as a rock," she continued with her gaze lingering on his crotch for longer than necessary. Challenge clear in her azure gaze and again he wondered if she was aware of the pain in the man she had tried protecting twice now.

"You're crazy," the man exclaimed and for the first time he wholeheartedly agreed with him. She couldn't be serious even though every fiber of her body seemed to express just that.

"I'm not, hear me out, Both of you. I don't know what's going on with your hair right now, but usually you two look fairly similar," she declared rolling her eyes as he saw himself again agreeing with the human and voicing the same undignified indignant sound of protest as he did. When she continued she kept her eyes on him and he wasn't exactly sure on the protocol of marriage, but he was sure she should be focusing on her husband instead "Don't huff at me like that, you two, you know it's true, black hair, black eyes, nobody would know it wasn't Yamcha's child. And I'll bring it to church every day, it could become an apprentice or something, so you can teach it everything it needs to know as your child and if what you say in your sermons is true the lifespan will be a lot longer than ours so, when I'm dead and the kid reaches a certain age it has an accident and it's all yours!"

He exchanged a look with the man, and somehow felt a sudden connection with him. This man deserved a medal for dealing with that woman for this long.

"It could work," the man sighed eyes cast to the polished floors. Nevermind. Her crazy had to be contagious. It really had to be, because under her hopeful gaze he was seriously considering that offer. This sounded like a no strings attached kind of deal. She'd stay married to the weakling and mimic a happy family, had found a good excuse to bring the kid to him for practice and when the time came he could take the kid to hell with him.

And in the off chance he'd actually want her at his side… he could always have her. Her bond with the human seemed solely based on friendship. And all resigned and slumped over as he was, the weakling didn't seem like he'd put up a fight.

He sighed. 

Fucking damn it all.

"Undress."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to [Lady_Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Red/pseuds/Lady_Red) and especially [areo_ian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areo_ian/pseuds/Areo_ian), [Lachanophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic) for helping me through this chapter. I got some invaluable advice from them to improve what I hadn't even seen. [ruthlesscupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruthlesscupcake/pseuds/Ruthlesscupcake) did an awesome job at beta reading... Honestly this chapter was kinda a team effort^^'
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, leave a review or a kudos and let me know... also let me know if this chapter needs anything special addressed, because I'm kinda losing track of all that^^'. Not sure when the next one will be out, I have a busy week ahead ... I may or may not keep you informed via twitter (I fucked this up this week, I know)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time been a while, so let me refresh your memory:  
> After a more or less unsettling visit at Baba's, Vegeta teleported into Bulma's house where he found her snuggling with her husband (the audacity, right?!). Torn between killing and fucking her, and after some interference by the idiot that got him into that mess, he and Bulma kinda strike a bargain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo and welcome back!
> 
> Happy valentine's, I guess? If your significant other has the gall to be too busy for you today, or has the audacity to not exist yet, this is for you. You know...let Vegeta Show them how it's done! I mean... He definitely mentions romance like... Once? Nevermind... I suck at romance, have fun!

He couldn't be serious! Here? Now? What about Yamcha? He shouldn't have to see this! 

"What, after months of begging for my cock you're getting shy?" He drawled, arms crossed in front of his chest. 

Was this a test? Did he want to see how serious she was about it? A glance at Yamcha didn't help her much, all she could see in his face was fear and uncertainty.

Father Vegeta scoffed and she found herself rooted on her spot, eyes caught in his menacing glare that suddenly carried more. An understanding that scared her even more than when he had almost killed her on her table. 

"Was that it?" He asked, stepping towards her. "Has that been your plan all along? Getting yourself knocked up by a priest, who looked sufficiently close enough to your failure of a husband, and who should be equally interested in keeping this affair quiet?" 

Her skin prickled with fear. This weird thing was happening around him again and her breath was caught in her throat. It wasn't like that. Hadn't been like that in the beginning! It… it might have been a bonus… she hadn't even thought about it! She truly, truly hadn't!

His eyes softened for a bit as he stopped right in front of her, indecently close. She wanted to see Yamcha's reaction. To see if he was alright, if maybe he was at least a little jealous, if he was afraid for her again, but she didn't dare to take her eyes off the immense power in front of her. Her pulse thrummed in her ears and drowned any possible interferences of Yamcha out. Terrifying indeed. As if her whole body was only there for  _ him. _ She could feel it in her core. She knew poor Yamcha was just five steps away from her. Her husband. Her lovely, kind husband. And still, she burned for this other man's touch. Her nerves felt alive from the terror he evoked in her. 

"Timid doesn't suit you," he huffed and backed up a bit, allowing her to pull breath into her starving lungs. "Undress," he repeated, but calmer this time. This definitely wasn't an emotional reaction anymore, if that was what it had been before. This was calm, measured and absolutely serious. It also left no more room for questioning. If she didn't follow his order now, she wouldn't get the chance again.

So she let her sleeves finally slip from her arms, the bodice fall from her bosom and the expensive brocade pool around her legs. She barely realized Yamcha's scandalised gasp, too caught up in the burning fire in her affair's black eyes. He'd never looked at her like that before. As she undid the ties of her underskirts she followed his gaze down her body and saw how it lingered on her bruised breasts. Not one ounce of regret, confusion or even disgust, just pure hunger. For her. Nobody had ever looked at her like that, not even Yamcha. Especially not Yamcha. 

Oh, poor Yamcha. She couldn't do this to him! Her fingers halted in their attempt to free her even further and his eyes snapped up to hers instantly. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to say anything. The slightest rise of a brow was all she needed. She knew him well enough by now.

"Can you let Yamcha go?"

"No." The words left his mouth with such finality, not even his whip could have hit her with such force. It was enough to free her from his spell, to finally allow her to take her eyes off him. Yamcha looked miserable. Heartbroken, dejected, scared. Not for his life. Not for hers either. 

"Let the pitiful fool see how I can make his wife scream." His voice just loud enough for Yamcha to hear, and she could see the breath leaving his slumped form. Sweet, innocent Yamcha. 

He had every right to be disgusted by her and her desires. She was a vile creature, wasn't she? Maybe he had seen this capacity in her before she had, maybe that's why he had never been able to indulge in her fantasies, because he had known the abyss of her failures. "I'm sorry, Yamcha," she whispered and her last piece of clothing fell, leaving her bare in front of both men's eyes except for the fresh bandages across her waist. 

She felt the need to cover herself and hated the fact that it would be Yamcha she'd be hiding from, but she knew that Vegeta wouldn't allow that, so she stood her ground. Fists balled at her sides, she stared at him. If this was how he wanted it, fine. He was right, after all. Timid didn't suit her, and she would not run. Yamcha was strong, too. They could get through this together and, once it was done, they could fall asleep crying in each other's arms while Father Asshole could go fuck himself. 

"Let's just get this over with, then," she bit out, hoping that Yamcha's recent pastime of meditation would come in handy. He was afraid for the same reason she was after all. The things he'd see. She didn't believe Vegeta would go easy on her just because Yamcha was there. If anything, the opposite would be the case. In a few minutes all her depravity would be on display for her sweet husband to see and neither of them wanted that, she was sure. Dealing with the aftermath was one thing and it was bad enough already, but this? This was cruel. And yet there was that tiny little voice in her head that implored her to let him see. He wouldn't be that understanding and supportive if he saw. It was about time he got to see the real her. It would send him running for sure!

Vegeta clicked his tongue, gloved hand rising to give her cheek a disturbingly gentle caress. It made her shudder. "We're trying to make a baby here. Don’t you think that calls for a bit more romance in the act,  _ Yamcha _ ?" The name dripped from his tongue sounded almost foreign, too sweet for the situation.

Insult to injury, was that it? It was her fault. She shouldn't have asked him to let him leave. He probably would have forgotten so, as much as she wanted to protect him, she shut up. She wouldn't fuel his twisted game any more than she already had.

"Did you enjoy my art on your wife's back?" He asked, fingers slowly gliding down her throat, between her breasts to slip under the bandages. 

How could he be that cruel? Was she any better? She didn't stop him, but trying would make it worse for Yamcha, wouldn't it? What else was there for her to do but bear it? Bear it, and try not to let either of them know how susceptible she was to this cruel game or to the fire she felt wherever he touched her.

He turned towards Yamcha. "I asked you some questions, you spineless cunt. Answer."

She knew this tone. Felt it, more than she heard it. She'd never felt this helpless with him before. She hated feeling helpless, loathed it. She could not study at the great university as her father had. She couldn't run her family business without a husband at the front. She couldn't even officially leave the house without his permission and she hated every aspect of this helpless life she was forced to lead. She had no reason to feel good with him for more than the pain he inflicted without a second thought. She shouldn't react to that tone like that! She shouldn't, but she was helpless in front of him and he didn't give her a choice. Like all the other men in her life, in this whole fucking world they ruled. 

Yamcha scoffed, raised his head and looked at him with so much hatred and fury like she hadn't even thought possible. "Of course I didn't you sick Bastard! Who would like their wife tortured like that?"

She closed her eyes. Not even Yamcha gave her a choice, as much as he tried. Sweet, sweet Yamcha…

"Tortured?"

She knew his laugh, too. Felt it just as much. 

With a yelp she found herself tugged towards him, her sensitive breasts carelessly crushed against stoney muscle. His gaze still focused on Yamcha behind her back, no doubt, he brushed her hair aside with the same weird gentleness he'd shown earlier. Confusing, and such a crass contrast to the cruelty of his words. A gloved hand slipped down her back, and a heat spread along the path. A different heat. A burning heat.

Behind her Yamcha cried out, panic thick in his voice, and still she arched back into that burning hand as the bandages around her loosened and were finally only held up by their hips. Her nostrils filled with the scent of scorched cotton and her back alive with the burn of her exposed nerves. 

He didn't touch though. He kept the heat just out of her reach and clicked his tongue in reprimand. "Patience, woman. I'm going to enjoy myself thoroughly this time," he murmured into her ear before angling his face away again. She should be ashamed that she felt disappointment at the loss of his hot breath against her skin.

"Look at her, Yamcha," he taunted, the name still sounding more than a curse than anything else, "look at your wife. This-"

Her mind went blank. White hot pain shooting through her body when his gloved hot fingers finally did what they had only hinted at before, connecting with the crosses of raw flesh on her back, filling her with fire, liquid heat to rip her from the monotony that was her daily life. Her pulse thrummed in her ears again, Yamcha's cries for mercy just barely audible against the sough of her own blood and his dark chuckle right next to her. She could feel that too, vibrating from his chest to hers.

"This is what your wife seeks from me every week because you are too weak to give it to her."

She was flipped around, only knew it from that one single moment of weightlessness between her feet stumbling and his strong arms pressing her against him and dear Lord above, or below or whoever would still listen to a creature like her, she swore she tried to keep quiet. Not to gasp at her raw back colliding with his chest. Not to keen at the buttons of his cassock digging into exposed muscle. But she couldn't. She pressed her eyes closed, couldn't bear to see the horror on Yamcha's face. The poor soul was still pleading for her. 

With an unrelenting grip on her jaw he angled her face down. "This is what your wife looks like when she's enjoying herself." He taunted and she couldn't help the whimper. Yamcha wouldn't know. He shouldn't know! 

His grip on her hip tightened. "Look at your husband Bulma, he's terrified of this. Of what you are."

She shouldn't listen. She knew it would break her heart, but she couldn't deny him, could she? As much as she hated being compliant, as much as she loathed being told what to do. Unlike anyone else… it was always worth it with Vegeta, and she knew he would make her regret it if she didn't. She knew she could push him on occasion. Sometimes, she was sure, he even enjoyed her resistance, but not this time. Not when he used this tone with her, not when he was in this far himself. 

So she opened her eyes, despite her fears. Because, no matter how ugly it was, or how despicable, she didn't care about Yamcha. No matter how much she loved him, how much she wanted to protect him she couldn't. Not when she was in  _ his _ arms, with his gravelly voice whispering temptations in her ear, and the proof of his commitment to her pleasure burning on her back. She couldn't resist. Couldn't disobey. Couldn't help the deep sob of sorrow for her sweet husband when she saw him.

This wasn't what Yamcha had signed up for when he'd married her and clearly, despite the wounds he had tended to, he hadn't seen or realized the scope of her unholy desire. This broken husk of a man couldn't possibly be her Yamcha! Strong, beautiful Yamcha, who always protected her from unwanted harm and what did she do in return? Shattered him. Destroyed him in a way Vegeta could never destroy her.

Her heart broke for Yamcha. A thousand pieces, but her body still burned for  _ him _ . That demon behind her that aggravated the open wounds on purpose, held her jaw in place with bruising force with one hand, and tightly gripped an already bruised breast in the other. Her vision swam with unshed tears, eyes burning like her back. She hated that it made her feel so good. So alive, so weak. Sweet Yamcha wouldn't do this to her, no matter how much she begged. Sweet Yamcha was repulsed by her begging and followed her every bratty command, every whim. This side of her… it had to disgust Yamcha.  _ He  _ was never disgusted by her, not truly. 

"Please let Yamcha go," she tried again but he just laughed at her, chest rubbing against her back and tearing a whimper from her lips. Hand from her breast shoved between her legs, fingers wedged deep inside and uncaring of Yamcha's protest.

"Don't you want him to see? How depraved you are? Are you even human?"

She wanted this. Yamcha was supposed to see, he was right. Another whimper when he pulled his fingers back out, taking with him that warm fullness she craved every time she visited him. When he put his fingers in front of her face she didn't hesitate, took them in her mouth, sucked on that soaked leather and only wished it was his real skin.

She tasted like expensive imported fruits and wine. Tangy and sour. He smelled like earth and coal. His heat enveloped her. Smothered her. Freed her.

It didn't matter what Yamcha thought,  _ he _ knew best in such situations. She had made a choice all those years ago and he had accepted… accepted her and her choice in a matter Yamcha never could. He made her feel helpless and bare before him he made her whole. Made her see colours.

It didn't matter that Yamcha hurt. This was the truth. This was her. She accepted that. Yamcha would too, if he loved her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it goes without saying that that's not what you do with open wounds on your back, they need to be kept sterile. Another obvious note: if you want to fuck someone else while your partner is tied to a chair and forced to watch, (or if you want to be any other party here), you should talk about that beforehand
> 
> We all owe a huge thank you to [rogue_1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_1102/pseuds/rogue_1102) for Beta-Reading this punctuation madness. If you ever felt like Radditz doesn't get enough love you should check out her fics, you might have missed them if you only browse Vegebul! She's an extremely talented writer and her way with words keeps me in awe!  
> And obviously a huge thank you to [Lachanophobic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachanophobic/pseuds/Lachanophobic), too. She's the one holding my hand and encouraging me to write on and most importantly, the one that helps me develop the plot and characters with incredibly insightful questions. I told you all before to check out her works and I mean it, look at my bookmarks, she's right there for the public to see. It's awe-inspiring how much thought she puts in her character's motivation and don't get me started on that woman's vocabulary!  
> (Of course, being an avid follower of the fandom, you already know how awesome they are!)
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, I'd love to hear your opinions on the chapter.  
> Not sure when I can get the next chapter out, I've hit a bit of a block and kinda need to get started on that reverse bang going on...


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